


V For ...

by Oboeist3



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jeremy Heere's Dubious Mental Health, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: It's a month after the play, and Jeremy Heere is ready to say that his life is going pretty well, actually. He's got his best friend back, a girlfriend, and the future ahead of him. Of course there are little things, but nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hadn't earned.A story about mistakes, confessions, and recovery. Not always in that order.





	1. Victory

It's been a month since the after school play, and Jeremy Heere is ready to say that his life is going pretty well, actually. He's back to being best friends with Micheal, awkwardness fading into the familiar over video games, chips, and some pot. He asked out his crush, Christine Canigula, and she said yes. The first date was awkward too, but they're figuring out things to talk about, and she's even prettier up close.

He's got more than one friend now, or he thinks. Rich isn't really a touchy-feely guy, but he doesn't slam Jeremy into lockers anymore, so that's something. Brooke and Chloe are totally over him romantically, and Brooke sometimes gives him rides to the mall and points out all the sales. Jenna hangs out with Christine a lot, and explains geometry with the same fervor and excitement as school gossip. She tells him a lot of that too, most of which goes right over his head.

Of course, there are the little things. Like when the gym teacher barked at him to move faster on the rope climb and he ended up at the top, palms raw, with no memory of how he got there. The fact that he hangs his towel over the mirror whenever he takes a shower, avoiding the sight of the fractal-like scars climbing up his spine. The way his chest grows tight whenever he hears the word loser or ugly, regardless of context.

But it's not a big deal. He's just not used to life without the SQUIP yet, life back to normal. Jeremy doesn't feel the need to talk about it. Certainly not with Micheal, he had it way worse during the whole thing, and Jeremy hates how sad he looks when it comes up. Plus, he did kind of deserve it. He was the one who paid for the thing, listened to it, chose to upgrade. These are the consequences. If he ignores them, eventually they'll just go away. Right?

Wrong.

* * *

The little things start to add up. He has more 'zone-out' moments, where a teacher tells him to do something, he blinks, and he's done it. He takes to wearing a watch, seeing how much time he loses. It's not a small amount. The feeling of loathing when he sees his scars or his face covered in acne lingers much longer than before. Jeremy finds he can't even imagine himself as handsome. The insults hit him harder. When a classmate in chemistry calls him a loser, he almost spills acid on himself, and feels disappointed that he missed.

There are new ones too. He can't stand in one place for too long or he'll feel paranoid. Feel like everyone is watching him, judging him. He starts biting his nails again, a habit he kicked in elementary school, only now he doesn't stop until his fingers hurt. And then there are the nightmares.

He experiences them the same way he studies for an English test at two in the morning, vague sheathes of plot and overarching themes. There's Micheal, or rather, the lack of him. So many times he turns towards the stage door and sees only a menacing black rectangle. There's Jake, walking on his broken legs, grinning as he pries away the Mountain Dew Red, dumping it onto the floor. There's Christine, a moment of weakness. He kisses her. She smiles into it, but not like she really does, a fake photograph smile. It doesn't fade as she starts crying. Always, there's laughter. Maniacal, mechanical. A little bit evil.

_I'm going to improve your life, Jeremy!_

He starts staying up later to avoid them, but it doesn't work. He tries taking sleep medication to stop having them. They come back the next day, worse. Eventually he finds out that they only happen during REM sleep, so he sets alarms every ninety minutes, only loud enough for him to hear. That gets rid of most of them, but means he only sleeps about four hours a night. He takes to drinking caffeine throughout the day just to stay awake, caking foundation under his eyes so the bags don't look too bad.

Knowing how it'll look if he starts avoiding his friends, especially Micheal, Jeremy forces himself to socialize more than he used to. He accepts study sessions and shopping trips and game nights. He starts having weekly dates with Christine. Sometimes it actually does make him feel better, talking and having fun with them, the nervous joy when he gets to kiss his girlfriend. Mostly though, he learns how to fake happiness, keep the attention off him when he can't quite manage.

They notice, occasionally, but Jeremy's got plenty of excuses that seem reasonable. Kind of a bad day, overslept, catching a cold or something, stressed about school. The last one is even true, his grades have started to slip, and he meets his first ever D with panic, then acceptance. After all, maybe it was best that his GPA wasn't going to be good enough to get into college. Then Micheal could go to the UC circuit without him and meet someone better. He certainly deserves better than him.

They all do.

* * *

One day, right at the end of gym, Jeremy notices Rich slip out the back door. He's got lunch next, but he knows Rich has math, seeing how much he complains about it. Curiosity pulls him to follow, push open the door. He smells the smoke before he sees it, curling off Rich's lit cigarette.

"Hey there, Heere." he says, smiling at his own wordplay. Jeremy smiles too, resigned.

"One day you'll get tired of that." He knows, everyone does.

"You wish. You want one?" he chuckles, pulling another cigarette from a box. Jeremy looks down on the cancer stick he's never felt all that inclined to try. At least with weed you got some laughs out of it. Then he thinks of the day he has left ahead of him, and the night after that. Suddenly nicotine looks much more appealing.

"Y-yea, actually." Rich blinks once, a little surprised, but dutifully helps him light it, laughs as his first failed drag leaves him a spluttering mess. He makes a couple of shaky rings as a testament to his own skill, though they only last a second or two.

"Show off." he grumbles, and he smirks. "So....what are you doing out here anyway?" Jeremy asks. Rich's shoulders tense for a moment, then he shrugs.

"Skipping math class. It's bogus, I'm never gonna need linear algebra in my future." he scoffs.

"What are you going to need?"

"I don't know." he says, slumping against the wall. Rich is short, always has been, but he's made up for it in aura. And muscles. Now though, he looks small, almost vulnerable. He takes another drag before speaking. "I did whatever the SQUIP said. For two and a half years, just following orders. I used to get mad about it, tried to shut it up with nicotine, alcohol. Ritalin. Anything. Now it's gone, like for real, and it's good. I get to be myself, whoever that is. Get to like dudes, homophobic prick. But I lost something. Whatever else it did, I got me through high school, almost." Rich sighs, throws his cigarette on the ground.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm useless without it. Do you know what that's like?"

"No, sorry." he says.

He lies.


	2. Anger

Soon after, the fragile container of Jeremy's psyche shatters into a million pieces. It begins with his alarm clock frying with a pop and spark that automatically straightens his spine. He tries to fix it and has to sprint to catch the bus. In his haste, he forgets the makeup that keeps him from looking like a complete monster. Micheal notices before he does, pulls down his headphones mid-jamming session and frowns.

"Jeremy, you look terrible! What happened?" he asks, and even though his voice is all concern, no malice, he barely holds in a flinch.

"Nothing!" he says, too quick, and Micheal raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "Nothing important. My alarm clock broke and I nearly missed the bus and there's a history quiz today." he babbles. All of his words are true, he refuses to lie to his best friend if he can avoid it, but none of them are the truth.

"Pulled an all nighter?" he asks, and he nods enthusiastically. That was a perfect explanation, and totally acceptable in a way that 'I'm still haunted by a computer' isn't. It's clear that Micheal doesn't completely buy it, but he doesn't push.

"Ok. Try and get some sleep though. You need it." he says, patting his shoulder. Jeremy smiles and closes his eyes, letting the warmth pass through his skin. But when he opens them, he's not in the hallway. He's in the infirmary, lying on a cot. He frantically pulls down his sleeve, checks the time. Five hours. He's never lost that much time at once before! Did he even go to class? Did he miss the quiz? History's the only subject he's even doing well in anymore.

Jeremy pulls aside the curtain, tries to stand up. He has to grab the headrest to stay upright, flashes of color popping across his eyes like fireworks. He feels like he's going to be sick, but he can't stay. He has to take that quiz, otherwise everyone will know. Micheal will know.

He takes shaky steps towards the door, stumbles into the hallway. A few upperclassmen look at him, and he panics, crashes into a trash can. It falls, spilling garbage into the hall. Jeremy starts scooping it up, his knees shaking as he bends, his heart pounding in his ear so loud he almost doesn't hear it. Almost.

"Chill out dude, it's just trash."

Chill out. Chill. Be more chill. Stop freaking out, you look like a weirdo. Like a loser.

_"Jeremy Heere."_

He freezes. No, it can't be. Not him, not now!

_"I assure you, it is."_

That calm condescension, easy in its righteousness. It's so familiar, so obvious. He can't deny it now, that's not one of the normal voices. It's him. The SQUIP. And not the tinny, broken whine that sometimes creeps up when he's nervous, the remnants. This is the SQUIP at full power.

Jeremy runs. It's the only thing he's got left in him, instinct. He opens the first door he can find, the bathroom, and ducks into a stall. He curls up on himself, hiding. If he's small enough, maybe he can't find him. Maybe he'll just go away too. Maybe he'll be ok.

 _"You can't lie to me, Jeremy, I'm inside your brain!"_ he says, laughing at how pathetic he is.

He looks around, but there's nothing. No backpack with the emergency Mountain Dew Red, no alcohol, no drugs. Just him and the SQUIP, and nothing to stop him. Unless....

Jeremy remembers one other thing that made the SQUIP retreat, just for a little bit. Pain. Whenever he stubbed his toe or tripped over his shoelaces, the little computer would become quieter, on hold. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and rams his head into the door.

_"Wait!"_

He does it again, and again, and again. He stops keeping track of the number, focuses on the rhythm, bang bang bang bang! He doesn't notice the blood, the hands grabbing him, holding him still.

"Jeremy!" That makes him pause. He knows that voice.

"Micheal?" he says, and the world turns off.

* * *

The first thing he notices is the pain. It's dull, achy, throbbing just out of sync with the beeps drifting nearby. Once he gets used to the consistency though, he notices the other things. The smell of lemon cleaning solution. The thin fabric of the blanket on his arms. Someone holding his hand. Wait. What?

With great effort, he lifts up his heavy eyelids, groans at the bright white that assaults them. The hand in his tightens, metal screeches against tile. He feels the edges of something soft against his chest, like the fabric is dripping onto him.

"Jeremy?" he says, familiar and smooth. For a moment, everything feels a little bit better. Micheal is here. He's going to be ok.

"Present." he replies, voice cracking halfway through, which makes sense. His throat feels like a little desert.

"Oh thank God!" he says, pulling him into a tight hug. Like really tight. Somewhat crushing, really.

"Micheal...need air...." he wheezes, and he quickly pulls back.

"Sorry man. It's just....they weren't sure you were going to wake up. Ever."

"Oh." he says, the information slowly sinking in. He could be dead. Or at least, brain dead. It's a testament to how fucked up he must be that part of him feels bummed. He quickly tries to cover. "Well, I'm here. Jeremy Heere." Micheal's tentative worry rises to outright concern, because he forgot he told him how much he hates those jokes. Five years ago.

"Dude, I know this isn't the best time, but what's going on? Is it" he looks around, lowers the voice. "the SQUIP?"

The beeping from his heart monitor spikes, turning the whole room into an allegro echo chamber. His fingers curl into the covers, shaking enough to rattle the frame slightly. For one weak moment, he wants to tell him everything: the nightmares, the lost time, the self-loathing. But then he remembers. This was punishment. This was deserved, and he's the main reason why. He's already hurt Micheal, he won't do it again.

"It's nothing. I'll be fine." he lies, forcing the stutters off the words with careful precision.

"Bullshit!" he snaps, shocking him. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it's not this. "You gave yourself a concussion, Jeremy! Do you know how hard that is? And you've been off for weeks, don't think I haven't noticed. Especially you trying to hide it from us. I wasn't going to say anything. I was going to wait until you were ready, but this is it man. If you don't tell me the truth, I'm leaving." he announces, crossing his arms.

There's a long silence. He doesn't know how long. Minutes, years. It's all the same in that sterile room.

"Then leave." It can't be him that says that. But it can't be anyone else. Micheal can't seem to believe it either. He stares, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and he stares back, unblinking. There's a tsunami of emotions going over his face: anger, sorrow, pain, fear. Tears well up in his eyes, and he turns around.

"Fuck you, Jeremy." he says, sobs. "Fuck you!" And then he's gone.

Jeremy knows he should be feeling all those terrible emotions too, should be sad and scared and lonely.

All he manages is tired.

* * *

The tiredness stays long after Micheal leaves, after his father comes to pick him up, after the cuts and bruises start to fade. It infects everything he used to care about. Video games, play rehearsal, music. Sucks the joy out of them like a vacuum. It settles into his soul, as much a part of him as the greasy hair and pimple-laden skin. Jeremy accepts it for what it is, punishment, and does what he has to.

He drops drama. He stops talking to his new friends, his girlfriend. Micheal was the one who said he should open up, but he's gone now. The one avoiding him. His grades get better with no distractions, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Not much does.

He spends his lunch behind the gym, cigarettes burning through his meager allowance. He tries to make them last, ends up with black, burned fingertips. He likes the pain, only because it's something other than tired. At home, he sneaks sips of brandy from the liquor cabinet, watches the ceiling spin until he falls asleep. The nightmares come back, but he stops avoiding them. The suffering he feels when he wakes it one of the few honest feelings he has left.

The other one is rage. It flares up at odd times, minor inconveniences set him off more often then anything serious. It's all encompassing, completely irrational. Sometimes he feels like he could kill someone when he's like that, anyone. It scares him, but only for a little while. Then the numbness returns and he can hardly imagine doing anything at all.

Jeremy survives, and not much else. He tries to forget what happiness feels like. Maybe then he won't want it so much. He keeps his head down, avoid eye contact and human interaction. One day, it backfires. He's so focussed on the floor he runs into someone, falls onto the floor. His palms get scraped up, and he relishes the pain as he picks up his books. Except he's not the only one.

"Hey, sorry about that. You ok, dude?" He looks up. It's Jake Dillinger, from the Halloween party. He's so busy with extracurriculars that Jeremy never saw him much, before. He always seemed nice though. The sort of 'cool' that didn't rely on fear, like Rich's used to. He recognizes him too.

"Jeremy, it's been forever! How's it going? How are you feeling?" he asks happily, helping him to his feet and handing him the rest of his books.

"How am I feeling?" he repeats, sounding like an idiot.

"Yea. I haven't seen you with the others, even hoodie dude, Micheal?" he asks, and he nods, a different type of pain rolling over him. The pain of missing him. That's strange. He hasn't felt that in forever. "Did something happen?"

"You could say that."

"Aw, that sucks. Do you wanna talk about it?" he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. The last time someone did that was when - he pulls back.

"I don't feel like anything." he blurts out, surprising himself.

"What?"

"I don't...feel things anymore." he admits, eyes turned downward.

"Oh. Um. That sounds bad. Maybe you should see a therapist or something." he suggests, a little awkward, but not disgusted, which isn't right.

"Don't you think I deserve it? After everything I did?"

"No way! Look, I don't really know you that well, but from what Rich lets slip, that SQUIP thing is like borderline abusive. That doesn't mean you're off the hook for what you did, but it's not all your fault. You're allowed to be messed up too."

It's a permission Jeremy didn't know he wanted, needed, but now that he has it, everything he hasn't been feeling rushes forward like a stampede, fighting for attention. He doesn't notice the tears until they're soaking the front of Jake's sweater. It's scratchier than Micheal's and he's now the shorter one, but he leans into it anyway, fabric muffling whatever sounds his mouth is trying to make.

"It's going to be ok, man."

For once, it doesn't seem like a lie.


	3. Peace

It's four in the morning when Jeremy finally gets the nerve to talk to Micheal. He thinks about calling, but he doubts he'll answer, and this is way more important than video games or, in one mortifying case, masturbation. So he sneaks down the stairs, manually opens the garage door, and bikes.

There's many reasons he got his license as soon as possible, and the route to Micheal's house is one of the big ones. The sidewalks are cracked and uneven, when they're even there, and the roads splutter with the kind of self-righteous and simultaneously awful drivers that only New Jersey can churn out. The early hour keeps him from getting run over, but he still ends up with leaves in his hair and his bike stuck between fourth and fifth gear.

When he arrives, he tries the door, but it's firmly locked. Obviously. The Mells are friendly, not stupid. Since he hardly relishes the thought of waiting hours for someone to wake up, not to mention his half-spent courage, he scoops some pebbles from their drive, hops the fence, and starts throwing them at Micheal's window. Rom-com style.

Unlike an actor though, Jeremy doesn't get a clear signal of when to stop, and ends up grazing his glasses when he yanks the window open.

"Dude!" he whispers angrily, and he gives a sheepish 'oopsy-daisy' kind of smile in response. He has to smile, because even half-asleep and pissed off Micheal is better than no Micheal at all.

"What are you doing here? It's" He checks his phone. "four seventeen am." he asks, more curious than anything now. Jeremy takes a deep breath, tries to get his thoughts in order. He's been planning what to say all the way over, but nothing seems to get it all. He starts, not knowing where he'll end up, and hopes he'll understand.

"I'm sorry. I realized that I never did say it, not really. I'm sorry that I left you after I promised I wouldn't. I'm sorry I used optic nerve blocking on you. I'm sorry I called you a loser. You said it was alright now, and I just wanted things back to normal, so I didn't say anything. Not even when things started to get bad. I justified not telling you by saying it would hurt you, and I didn't want to do that again, but I ended up doing it anyway. You don't have to forgive me for that, but you should know. The SQUIP hurt me too. Emotionally and," he hesitates, but pulls up his shirt, hears the gasp when the scars shine in the dim light. "physically. And I need help getting over that. I'm going to a therapist, and maybe I'll get drugs, maybe not. I'm going to get better. Or try to. Like I said, you don't have to, but....it sure would be less scary with my favorite person.

Micheal looks down at him, his expression unreadable, and Jeremy feels his heart break when the window closes without a word. He bows his head, lets the misery wash over him, and sighs. He knew it was too much to ask, after everything, but still he had hoped. Hoped he didn't have to do this on his own. At least he tried.

Just as he turns to leave, he hears the creak of the back door. A sliver of yellow light pools at his feet, and Micheal's there, leaning on the frame. He's smiling, sort of bittersweet, and holds out a hand to him.

"All you had to do was ask, buddy."

* * *

The next day, or maybe it's technically the same day, just later, he asks Christine to meet him in the prop room after school. Her answer is affirmative and full of exclamation points, and makes him smile. He's going to miss those, going to miss a lot of things, but this is for the best.

As soon as Christine sees him, she sprints to make up the distance. She throws her arms around him, more of a grabby sort of assurance he's there than a real hug, but it's still nice. Her eyes are bright and her emotions wide open as she talks, unfiltered and kind of beautiful in a way only she can manage.

"Jeremy! I'm so glad to see you! I was worried when you didn't come to rehearsal but thought maybe you were just sick but then it was so many and there were rumors you were in the hospital which I knew were probably out of proportion but Jenna said she actually saw the ambulance and also did you know the sirens are red and yellow in little triangles? I wonder how they make them. But anyway, you weren't answering my texts but it said you didn't even read them so I figured maybe you were in the hospital so I was going to visit but then Jake said he saw you the other day and you were just in a bad place and I hope things are better because you're here now and I missed you a lot!"

"I-I missed you too." he says, feeling even guiltier, which he didn't know was possible. He pulls back from the half-hug, rubs the back of his head. "But I - uh - wanted to talk to you about something. Something important."

"Ok." she says, forcing herself to (relative) stillness and concentration, which means a lot.

"So I don't really know how this works, maybe after not hanging out for a while it's kind of implied but ... I think we should break up. Not because of you, you're amazing, like seriously. You made me so happy. I might even have been a little bit in love. But I'm not ready to date right now. Like emotionally. I have trust issues and trouble saying no, and I have to focus on myself right now. I'm sorry."

It's clear as day that she's sad, but she's nodding too.

"I understand. I've always wanted things to be easy. To know what to do and when to do it. A script for real life. But after the play I learned that the best things in life are complicated, and messy. Like you." she says, smile so soft it hurts him. "Are you going to join drama again?"

"Maybe. Why?" he asks, confused where that came from.

"Well, a big part of me still likes to talk to you, and play rehearsal isn't nearly as fun alone."

"I'll think about it." he says, not sure if he's ready for that either. "But I promise I won't ignore you like that again, Christine. That was really uncool of me."

"Promise on the Scottish play?" she says, holding out a pinky. Jeremy smiles and hooks his around hers.

"On the Scottish play." he agrees.

"Good. I better get going. We're planning the holiday season production. I'm hoping I get to be an angel this year!" she says, clapping her hands and rushing into the auditorium, too quick to hear Jeremy's response.

"Christine, you already are."

* * *

At lunch, Jeremy slinks behind the gym for a smoke - some habits are going to take a while to break - but he's not alone this time.

"Skipping math again?" he asks Rich, offering him a cigarette from his box. It's one less that isn't in his lungs, at least. His dollar store lighter takes a few clicks but does the job eventually. Rich's zippo lights his immediately.

"Looks like I'm a bad influence." he says as Jeremy sucks in deeply, waits for the burn before blowing it out.

"Only a little. I have lunch."

"Ah. Guess I'm the only fuck-up then."

"I nearly destroyed the school and lost my best friend because I listened to a supercomputer that still thinks Eminem is cool." Rich snorts, accidentally coughs on his smoke.

"Sheriously? And I thought mine was bad. It thought pastel and plaid looked good together. The things I had to promise to get some cool tanks!" he laughs, but it fades quickly. "But I guess I asked for it." he says as he crosses his arms, forgetting the lit cigarette balanced between his fingers until there's a little angry mark on his forearm. He swears, stomps out the flame. Jeremy grabs a band-aid from his backpack without a word.

"Thanks." he grumbles, embarresed. It's a little weird to see on Rich, but not bad. Makes him seem less like that bully and more like a real person.

"No problem." he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder, since the period's almost over. But it doesn't seem right, leaving it like this. "Rich."

"Yea?"

"We didn't ask for this. We didn't deserve to be hurt. You didn't deserve it. No matter what."

He has the decency to ignore the sniffles that follow him through the door.

* * *

Jeremy's really nervous. All the time, really, but especially now. He's in the waiting room for his brand-new therapist, which is full of ocean-side music and couches that look like they're eating their inhabitants. His leg won't stop jumping, and the clock has to be running in slow motion. Oh why did he insist on going the first time by himself? He should have asked Micheal or Christine or even his dad to be here with him. Just so he wasn't alone.

"Jeremy Heere?" the reception lady asks, and he stands at practical attention before he can think. Damn it. She just raises an eyebrow and leads him back to the therapist's office. It's much nicer, and the couch only sinks around him a little. She's not there yet, so he swings his legs back and forth and looks at the decor. It's small, but cozy. He likes the bear clock on the mantle, it looks like the back of Micheal's hoodie. That's when the door opens.

Dr. Khosa is short, small, and has a voice like a soft blanket. At first, she asks some small talk questions about school and his hobbies, and after some awkwardness, it's actually pretty easy to talk to her. She reminds him of his friends, but older. Her laugh is really nice, though the thought makes him blush. Eventually though, she asks the hard question.

"So Jeremy. You said on your form that your main reason for coming was an abusive relationship. Would you like to discuss that? We can wait a little longer if you like." she says, and there really is no pressure, no bend like his voice had. But he knows himself. If he puts it off, he'll never actually do it. It has to be now.

"No, I think I can do it."

"Take your time." she says, and he does. He thinks about all the ways he could start this. The day Rich told him about it. The day at the mall. The Halloween party. The play. All seem too big for right now. So something little. Something seemingly unimportant.

"The first thing I noticed was that he looked like Keanu Reeves."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading V For ... , I really appreciate it! a few notes if you're curious  
> \- if anything seems wonky, that's on purpose! jeremy is not a completely reliable narrator in this piece  
> \- i also touched on how i think rich handles losing his squip and would like to do more in future but in short he has a lot of guilt, identity problems, and a tendency to dump info and retreat  
> \- i based a lot of jeremy's reactions to things on my personal experiences with emotional abuse, but every person navigates it differently. i hope i've done his character justice  
> \- special thanks to @gayradwhitedad on tumblr for inspiring me to take this idea and run with it  
> \- feel free to hmu on tumblr (@oboeist3) if you want to talk bmc!


End file.
